


Hallelujah

by tanks4thememory



Category: Tron (Movies), Tron - All Media Types, Tron: Betrayal, Tron: Evolution, Tron: Legacy (2010)
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Feels, Tissue Warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-31
Updated: 2012-12-31
Packaged: 2017-11-23 04:03:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/617873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tanks4thememory/pseuds/tanks4thememory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Love isn't always easy. Or happy. Sometimes love, no matter what its form, hurts.<br/>(Lyrics from "Hallelujah", by Rufus Wainwright)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Baffled King

_I've heard there was a secret chord_   
_That David played, and it pleased the Lord_   
_But you don't really care for music, do you?_   
_It goes like this_   
_The fourth, the fifth_   
_The minor fall, the major lift_   
_The baffled king composing Hallelujah_

*********************************************************  
  
Clu sat alone in his private chamber, the door sealed and the lighting dimmed to only that which was inescapable, the glow of the displays before him and the comparatively dull white glow of his own circuits providing the only illumination. The energy conduits that lined the walls were masked, and the window that normally looked out over Tron City was currently rendered opaque, blocking out the lights from outside.  
  
Normally, there were few things that gave him a greater sense of satisfaction than to look out over the city and the system that was his charge; his to direct, his to build, his to make perfect. At the moment, though, he just couldn’t stand to look at it.  
  
Instead, he sat poring over every available bit of data he could find that might be relevant. Stats, projections, security reports, progress reports, system maps, charts, even video files… His processes were starting to lag, and he knew that he should be resting; it was well into the down-cycle, and the next up-cycle would come far sooner than he was willing to admit.  
  
But he couldn’t stop now. Because there had to be something he wasn’t seeing, something he was missing. There had to be some imperfection, some _flaw_ in the system that he’d overlooked. Why else would Flynn turn away from Clu, from his creations, and focus on creatures that had appeared seemingly at random from the Sea of Simulation? Flynn wouldn’t just abandon them. He wouldn’t abandon Clu… would he?  


No,  it had to be some sort of test. A test of Clu’s abilities, his faith, his commitment to accomplishing his directive. If Clu could only find what was wrong, correct it, and _show_ Flynn that it had been corrected, then everything would be alright again.  
  
And Clu would no longer have to see his own imperfections staring back at him from the lights of his system.


	2. The Broken Throne

_Your faith was strong but you needed proof_   
_You saw her bathing on the roof_   
_Her beauty in the moonlight overthrew you_   
_She tied you to a kitchen chair_   
_She broke your throne, she cut your hair_   
_And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah_

*********************************************************  
  
Flynn had used to think that he was invincible. Unbeatable. Oh, he hadn’t been delusional enough to think he was bulletproof, or anything like that- not unless he’d had a few too many, anyway-; he wasn’t _stupid_. But he also hadn’t believed in the no-win scenario. He’d been convinced, deep down, that there was no set of adverse circumstances that couldn’t be turned around if one just had the right skills, the right tools, and sufficient courage and ingenuity to employ them.

All that had changed when Jordan was killed. It was like he’d been driving down the highway on cruise control, only to smash right into a cold, hard wall of reality. Thinking that analogy almost made him want to laugh, under the circumstances. Then thinking about laughing almost made him want to cry. Either way, he could feel the edge of hysteria in the back of his mind, looking for release.  
  
But he couldn’t afford to be hysterical. Couldn’t afford to break down. Too many people were counting on him. Alan. Roy. Sam. Especially Sam. Hell, he had a whole damn _world_ depending on him down in the basement of the arcade. The Grid needed him. The ISOs especially needed him. He had to be strong. Had to pull himself together. People needed him to be a leader, a friend, someone that they could count on to get the job done. He had to. He…  
  
He looked down at the dining room table, only just now realizing that he’d been running on autopilot while setting it. Something looked off, and for a moment, he couldn’t tell what it was. Then realization hit him like a punch to the gut: the table was set for three.   
  
Flynn sank into the nearest chair, screwing his eyes shut so that he wouldn’t have to see it any more. “’M sorry, babe,” he muttered aloud, his voice thick and his throat tight. “I’m sorry I can’t fix this…” He rested his elbows on the table, buried his face in his hands, and took a ragged breath, wishing with all his heart, right then, that he knew how to accept defeat.  
  
  
  



	3. The Flag on the Marble Arch

_Maybe I've been here before_   
_I know this room, I've walked this floor_   
_I used to live alone before I knew you_   
_I've seen your flag on the marble arch_   
_Love is not a victory march_   
_It's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah_

*****************************************************************  
  
Roy slowly packed his things into a box. The popcorn popper Alan had given him. ‘ _“So you’ll stop mooching off of mine.”_ ’ His copy of “The Digital Frontier”. ‘ _“Here ya go, man. Signed by the author and everything. Maybe it’ll be worth something someday, hmm?”_ ’ The box containing his personal backups of his programs. ‘ _“Do yourself a favor and keep them safe. They’re great programs; treat ‘em right and they never let you down.”_ ’ His Tron figures. ‘ _“Look, Uncle Roy, he really lights up!”_ ’ The R2-D2 pencil holder Flynn had given him as a gag-gift for his birthday several years ago. ‘ _“He even sort of looks like you, man!”_ ’  
  
All of it and more carefully packed away until the only signs that the desk had ever been occupied were an old coffee cup ring on one corner and the slightly worn condition of the chair on which the box sat. Roy stared down into the box for a moment before closing the flaps, not even looking up as taller figure strode into the cubicle. ‘ _“Those cubicles’ll have to go, man. Too much like prison cells, seriously.”_ ’   
  
“I’m sorry I couldn’t get down here sooner,” Alan greeted him with a faint sigh. “You need any help with anything?”  
  
“No,” Roy replied, turning to face him. “I’ve got everything in here.” He indicated the box, then looked once more around the empty cubicle. “Hard to believe it’s really over.”  
  
“It’s only ‘over’ when we give up,” Alan said, frowning.   
  
“Tell that to the board,” Roy responded with a sardonic smile.  
  
“Oh, I have,” Alan assured him. “At length. Why do you think I was so late?” A hint of a grim smirk quirked the corners of Alan’s lips, and Roy couldn’t help a slight chuckle as he imagined such a confrontation. The moment of levity passed quickly, though.  
  
“Not like we didn’t see this coming,” Roy sighed. “They’ve been looking for an excuse, ever since…” He trailed off uncomfortably.  
  
“Ever since Flynn disappeared,” Alan finished, any sign of the brief smirk gone, replaced by the grim look that seemed to have become his default facial expression since that incident. “You can say it, Roy. Someone has to.”  He gave Roy a meaningful look.  
  
Roy sighed, combing his fingers back through his mop of unruly curls. “Everything‘s all set,” he said, then paused, gazing back at Alan searchingly. “You’re sure you want to do this?”  
  
Alan nodded. “He’d do the same for us.”  
  
“Yeah,” Roy replied softly. “He would.” Roy picked up the box, smiling sadly at Alan. “Take care of the place for me, Tron.”   
  
Alan gave a small, tight smile of his own. “Will do, Ram.” He stepped aside to allow Roy out of the cubicle, then watched his friend’s back until Roy vanished into the elevator at the end of the hall, the doors sliding shut with a strange sense of finality.  
  



End file.
